


Telling Ghosts

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13x01 coda, Alcohol, Angst, Angst disguised as fluff, Canon Compliant, M/M, S13 Coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: “I get one half, you get the other?” Cas asked, and Dean's breath caught.“I’d give you all of it, if I could.”





	Telling Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet to go with some art I did this week.
> 
> A special thank you to [aoitrinity ](https://aoitrinity.tumblr.com/)  
> for being my rock-solid beta. Go give her all the love.

>

\-----

“I guess I don’t understand,” Cas said, leaning back. “Explain it to me. Talk it out.”

Dean revelled in the weight of him on his lap. The soft brush of his hair as Cas turned to snag Dean’s eye. Dean chased him for a kiss, but Cas swayed away from it. Kept himself a brush apart. 

“Fine,” Dean smiled, in spite of it. “Visual aid then.” 

He looked around. Spotted and swooped for the old, vintage tin of grease on the nightstand beside the bed. He’d lifted it from the garage and put it on display in his room beside the various other items that’d, at one time or another, been _kinda fucking cool_ , from the belly of that old, buried bunker. But now, that was neither here nor there. Now was now, and Led Zeppelin was singing the weight of that idea as _Ten Years Gone_ queued up and clipped in his ears.

_Not enough time_

He popped the lid, scooped a finger of black out, and wagged a brow at Cas before turning it onto himself. He smeared the grease in a long arc; up his sternum, slow curve over his pec, and then down. He stopped at the point their bodies broke to shadow before dipping it again. “One,” he said softly, then started in on Cas. He dragged the slick finger over Cas’ skin. Memorized the jump of his chest as he breathed. The feel of his warmth. His smell: like pine—

_The lakehouse smelled like pine_

_—and_ ignored the narrowing side-eye he was getting for his effort. He finished with a hard line off the side of Cas’ ribs and tied the two of them together in something resembling a smudgy, finger-smeared heart. “Two,” he finished. 

He sat straight, rolled his shoulders and watched Cas consider it with a marked softness. “Like this?” he asked. His blue eyes caught the low bedroom light and spit gold.

Dean nodded, doubt hitching his neck, slow at first, but burning out. “Just like this,” he agreed. “Yeah. I think so.”

“I get one half, you get the other?” 

Dean’s breath caught. “I’d give you all of it, if I could.”

And Cas smiled at that, squeezed Dean’s knee while he ghosted another desperate touch to Dean’s mouth. “No, I mean… is that what you’ve decided? I have half?”

“I don’t know about _decided—_ that’s too intentional. Pretty sure this is the kinda thing that just happens when nobody’s lookin’. But you _must have half._ ”

“Why?”

“Because…” Dean’s smile crawled away. It sank heavy in the pit of his gut where his self-induced lies were thinning with the fade of _Zeppelin’s_ curling rhythm. 

_The end of the tape._

“Because, shut up,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He nosed Cas instead. Memorized the feel of his lashes. The piney smell of his skin. The shift of his weight as he chased Cas one more time for that fucking kiss, but, just the same, couldn’t land it. _He needed to land it. Taste him. Feel him. Have him._

Cas caught his face instead, warm fingers wrapping the turn of Dean’s jaw as those bare eyes tore through him with a red-hot slice. “I want to kiss you,” he admitted, “but first, you need to tell me how you know…”

His voice was quiet. He didn’t need to raise it. It cut just as it was.

The cassette tape hit end, and popped to a stop.

 _No more music to bury._

Dean opened his eyes slow, lashes glued together, and headache thrumming his eyes. The pile of used-up bottles greeted him with a greasy smile as he slid back into his bedroom, heavy. The taste of vomit filtered in shortly after, but the desire to go wash it away was surprisingly absent. He blinked at the empty room, unkinked his neck from the headboard as he peeled himself from the pillows and sat up again. His arm felt like lead, but he got it to the Walkman anyway, flipped the tape and snapped it shut— 

_Side B: Dean’s 13 Top Zepp Traxx_

—as tears burned his eyes fresh. They washed the clarity out, and that was okay— _it was better, actually._

“Because I’m fucking heartbroken,” he growled to the silence. “That’s how I know, you asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [winchester-reload](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
